“There Comes a Generous Helping”
There comes a generous helping and a generosity
In catalogues that absorb the time for hours
In afternoons or early evenings, contiguous common flowers,
Profusion, choice, and even weeds within a field rich with ferocity
That can delight the eyes and reduce the busy soul to giddiness
If given half a chance. And of what of this is free, where’s the end?
There is no end. And that’s the gift that sends
The greater joy to those for whom no pettiness
In personal demand requires a word of complaisant compliment,
A laurel, or possibly less, a spotlight on the stage littering the strand
Of silences in quiet umbrage to the many and never-you-mind the few.
And in the widest eyes there shine delicious dews
Of freshness and the joy of giving freely out of hand
To one and all who share this world of multitudes of common dust and sand.
The minutes support simplicity that make this world so grand. Up from mountains to the skies, the smoke and fumes
Compromise the sun with rain, succeeding dispensations of rust, light and fire.
A constant intercourse—purples, striking greens, and streaks of liquid sapphire
Echo next to nothing of the years in lower cobalt vaults and valleys in rooms
Of empty desert flats. Somewhere nowhere near
A third dimension sits a second and the Primal First,
Whose wisdoms boast the toys of both the mortal camera and the eye; bursts
Of colour, meretricious travesties trapped in jars; the minimal, the austere,
The rough-hewn set between birth and death, their hues of classic frowns;
The lacquer-pinched and stylised will; their names in vain. Shrouds and gowns
Clothe the inhibition of surrogates, senseless nymphs, the glyphs and sounds
That are the stuff of jesters and the ballyhoo of royal clowns
Before the press magnified because the pantomime has lost its tone,
Its puppets loosed at last from strings to begin their long trip home.